


Darkness fades

by Jya



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blindfolds, Fluff, Injury Recovery, M/M, Oikawa Angst Fest 2k17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-19 00:26:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10628334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jya/pseuds/Jya
Summary: The prompt was angst and blindfolds. This is what happened.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShatteredEpiphany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredEpiphany/gifts), [beneaththeskin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beneaththeskin/gifts).



> Stay tuned for these two wonderful writers to post theirs... I am beyond excited.

I lie awake, staring at the dark purple wall across from my bed. I can’t sleep. I can never sleep. I’m not programmed for this.

I feel like a fucking vampire.

I’m always awake. And I’m always tired.

It always hurts.

I flop over on my bed and glare at the black out curtain covering the window, the sun attempting to pierce every edge of it lining the wall. Of course it’s pressed against the wall, effectively blocking out nearly every ounce of UV light.

Iwa-chan’s doing.

He really did a good job.

The room is dark, but I can still make out most of it. The blankets are pulled back on the other side of the bed. My boyfriend left hours ago. He’s working day shifts now; he started his rotation two weeks ago. He’d been off for some time before that, taking care of me like the amazing boyfriend he is.

I don’t think I’d be here without him.

He believes in me like no one else does. He has far more faith in me than I do.

But when your world has been effectively shattered; all the things you loved, brutally ripped away from you, it’s hard to have faith.

I’m being dramatic. I know I am.

I’m still here. And I should be grateful. It’s what I’ve been telling myself for weeks now, but somehow everything is still so dark around me.

More than just literally.

I can tell it’s beautiful outside, by the tone of the light slipping through the edges of the curtain. I hate it.

I grew up loving the sun. Summer is the best time of year. No matter how sweaty I got playing volleyball or how burnt my ghostly white skin got, I always loved it.

Now I hate it.

I want it to be dark and to rain and storm all the time.

Because that’s how I feel. I resent the world for being happy and going on without me. I know it’s selfish.

I don’t care.

I feel a familiar lump growing in the back of my throat. Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and the normal burning feeling follows.

I can’t even cry without pain. I’ve cried more in the last six weeks than I have in probably my entire life. And it hurts. The fucking burning at my retinas is a painful reminder of everything that’s wrong with me. A reminder of what took my life away.

And the pain only makes the tears worse. It’s a vicious cycle, one I’ve been trapped in for weeks now. I can’t get out. There’s nothing I can do.

Why am I still here?

I hate it all.

I roll over onto my stomach, and with every bit of strength I can muster, I slam my right fist into the headboard. I hear a loud cracking noise, but it doesn’t compare to the sound that escapes my lips.

The first pain I feel is in my throat. The scream feels like it ripped through the flesh at the base of my voice box and all the way through to my trachea. Breathing hurts, but it may just be because my breaths are so ragged.

Next I feel my hand, and I’m thinking the cracking I heard was not my headboard. I think it was my hand. Pain sears through my knuckles, through the back of my wrist and up my arm. I grit my teeth against it, but I feel myself exhale slowly.

It worked.

All I can feel is my hand. My head is overrun by the tidal wave that is the physical pain. My brain is numb. I feel nothing.

The skin feels broken as well, and I clench my right hand into my left. I feel the blood seep between my fingers before I see it.

Fuck it hurts. But it hurts so good.

I clench my hand tight, feeling nothing but the pain. Forgetting why I did it it. Forgetting the pain in my eyes. Forgetting it all. All I know is the blinding pain screwing up in my face and tensing my entire body.

I curl into a ball, my hand at the center feeling the tears leak from my eyes. I know it should hurt, but I can’t feel it anymore. I glance at the light attempting to penetrate the curtain and I feel nothing. Everything is dull. My head feels like its underwater, and everything is moving slowly. I pull my knees tighter into my chest, and I can hear the sound of my legs against the sheets, but it sounds like its happening miles away. It takes an eternity for my legs to move, and it’s like I have no control over them.

Am I dying? Is this what losing your mind feels like? It’s like my senses are slipping away from me. Even the pain is dissipating. My eyes are closed, and I can see lights dancing across my field of vision. It’s pretty, and I don’t want to let it go. It’s been so long since I saw something like this.

 

“Toru?”

I hear my name, but it sounds so far away.

“Toru, are you ok?”

Closer now.

Then there are hands on me, and I startle, jumping and feeling my entire body tense.

It jars me out of my reverie, and I feel the pain wrack my hand again.

A soft light turns on, making the room feel slightly like a nightclub. I hate it. I hate the pathetic excuse for a light. Every light in our apartment is on a dimmer, and they’re all blocked off less than a third of the way up to their intended brightness.

“You’re bleeding.”

The words are slightly frantic; he sounds worried, but there’s a hint of sadness in his voice as well. I look up, squinting my eyes at him. He’s blurry, and it’s hard to make out his face. But I hardly need to see him to know that the saddened tone has nothing to do with my hand.

Iwa-chan always sounds like that these days.

I also don’t need to be able to focus on his face to know that he has dark circles under his eyes. His brow is permanently arched in anxiety.

He’s not the Iwa-chan he used to be.

And it’s my fault.

All of it.

“Toru, what happened?” He asks, his hand finding my shoulder. The bed dips beside me, and I feel he warmth of his body against my own. It’s comforting, but it hurts at the same time.

I feel like I’m slowly killing him.

Suffocating him.

Squeezing the life out of him.

I can’t even answer him. The lump in my throat is back, and the pain behind my eyes has returned. I attempt to move my fingers, and the slightest motion sends the stabbing pain back through my wrist. The pressure behind my eyes is immediately lessened.

I have no doubt that my hand is broken.

But I don’t even care.

I don’t know why he stays. I know he’s not happy. I can see it in the tired lines on his face, in the soft sighs he breathes when he thinks I’m not watching. I hate that I’m dragging him down like this. He deserves to be happy.

The tears leak from my eyes. I’m not sobbing, but my face is soaked with them. And the cycle continues.

“Come on Toru, you need to sit up,” he says, his arm wrapping around my shoulders.

I don’t think I could stop him if I tried.

“Where’re your glasses?” He asks. I’m sitting now, my legs dangling off the edge of the bed.

“Don’t know.”

“Talk to me, babe. I hate seeing you in this much pain,” he says. The hurt is now evident in his voice. He sounds like he’s going to crack. I don’t think I could bear it if he did.

I clench my hand to my chest, applying a small amount of pressure to the knuckle of my index finger.

He sees it. I hadn’t meant to inflict enough pain for a hiss to escape through my teeth.

And in that instant he knows. I can see it on his blurry face.

I’ve done this before. I’ve hurt myself before, though it’s been a long time. It killed him when I did it back then, and I know it kills him now. I feel something in him shatter. I don’t even need to see it.

“What is there to say?” I whisper. I’ve said it all. He knows.

He takes my hand in his, and I clench my teeth again, waiting for it to hurt. But it doesn’t. He’s gentle. His practiced paramedic’s hands know exactly what to do. He reaches across me and pulls a tissue from the box, gently dabbing at the blood on my knuckles.

“Come to the kitchen with me?” He asks me. He gives me that look, that one where he stares into my eyes as if he can see into my soul. Even if he is blurry, there’s no way I can say no. And he knows it.

I nod, and he scoops me up in his arms, effortless as always.

I’ve lost so much weight.

I’ve been doing next to nothing for the last two months. I couldn’t walk for the better part of it. So not only have I become nearly emaciated, I’ve grown accustomed to being carried around. He always insisted, and most of the time I didn’t have the energy to argue. He shouldn’t have to, though.

But he does, and he sets me down in my chair at our small, cluttered kitchen table. He sweeps it clear, pushing all of the papers and dishes onto the other chair or the kitchen counter. He spins around, then returns to me, sliding my darkened glasses up my nose.

I hate them.

More reminders.

I sit silently as he examines my hand closely. He gets up a couple of times to collect things, and some time later I find it splinted and bandaged. Two painkillers follow. He kisses me, then stands up and walks over to the sink.

“So I had an idea,” he says, returning with a glass of water. He knows I don’t need it for the pills. I’ve dry swallowed more than my fair share of these throughout my life. The later part of my volleyball career only existed because of them. Too bad they can’t help me now.

“What’s that?” I ask. My voice sounds hoarse, and I sniffle against the mucus pooling in my nose.

“It’s beautiful out today,” he says.

I don’t reply. I know that. And why would he say it?

I feel myself begin to frown, and then he’s on his knees in front of me. “Do you trust me?”

His tone is enticing, and I feel my brows rise with curiosity. He grins at me. I nod.

“Be right back.” He stands up, returning seconds later with his thin, black scarf.

I look up at him questioningly, but he just smiles at me. “Glasses off.”

I do as I’m told, returning myself back to my blurry nightmare.

“Close your eyes.”

Again, I comply, and I feel the soft silk on my face as he winds it around my eyes and ties it gently at the back of my head.

“What?”

“We’re having a picnic. I want you to feel the sun,” Iwa-chan says. “Trust me, ok?”

I’m about to open my mouth in protest, insisting that I can’t just be walking around blindfolded and that I don’t want to be seen like this. But I don’t say it. I said I trusted him, and I do.

I hear the sounds of plastic bags and the fridge opening. He must have planned this, because seconds later, he asks, “ready?”

I nod.

As if my world hadn’t been dark enough before, now I’m plunged into complete blackness. I don’t know if this is a good idea. I’m scared. Being in the dark is one thing, but being blind is another matter entirely.

“Shoes,” he says, taking my right foot and slipping my foot into a shoe. They’re my purple vans; I know that feeling.

Once both shoes are on, he asks me to stand. I do, and he links his arm with mine and leads me in the direction I know the door to be.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Surprise,” he mumbles.

I don’t reply; I just focus on walking. It’s disorienting and anxiety-invoking not being able to see where you’re going. But Iwa-chan is with me, and I know he wouldn’t put me in danger. I try to focus on my breathing in attempt to distract me.

My hand is still aching, but the sharp pains from before have adapted into a dull aching pain. The painkillers will kick in, but until then, it’s set across my chest protectively. I’m such an idiot.

“One sec,” he says, stopping and letting go of my arm.

“Iwa-chan?” I ask, reaching out.

I hear a key twist into a lock, and a door opens. He takes my hand as a prince would take a princess’s, and leads me through the doorway. I hear it shut behind me, and he links our arms again.

I feel grass beneath my feet, and after a few steps it hits me.

The sun. It’s like the warmth on my face is breathing life back into me, and I feel like my hair should be whistling in the wind as flames appear around me or something stupid like that. My black shirt absorbs the heat and it cuts through the cold, the darkness, and the stuffiness of the world I’ve lived in for the last two months.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

I take a deep breath of air, feeling my lungs expand, and exhale, feeling like all of the pain and suffering is gone with just that breath. I take another, and another.

He lets me go again, and I hear what sounds like a thick material catching the wind.

A picnic blanket.

He takes my hand once more and guides me forward. I kick off my shoes as I feel the blanket, and he takes my right elbow in his, standing directly in front of me. “Sit down,” he says. I feel him descending, and I carefully follow. He holds my bad hand up as I seat myself on the blanket, crossing my legs. I feel him sit directly across from me, and he doesn’t let my hand go. He cradles it in his, and I feel what I think is him kissing the bandage.

“I’m sorry your hurt yourself. I should have been there,” he says softly.

“No, Iwa-chan. Please don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault.”

“I said I’d look after you, and I failed.”

His words break my heart.

No.

No, Iwa-chan.

That isn’t how it works.

Now I remember why I stopped hurting myself before. He found out, and he felt so responsible.

“I’m your boyfriend, Toru. I’m here to make you happy. And you aren’t happy.”

“That has nothing to do with you.”

“I don’t care. I want to make it better.” He sounds upset. He sounds frustrated. I hate myself for causing him those feelings. I want to hit the bedpost again. I deserve it. I know I do. I’m such an asshole.

I reach out, my hand looking for his shoulder. He takes it in his, and it finds its way to his face. I feel his chin, that pointed, strong chin, and up to his full and beautiful lips. I wish I could see them right now, but I can feel enough to know that he’s frowning. His stubbly cheek feels long and sad, and the edge of his eye feels creased.

“I’m so tired of being in the dark. I’m tired of hurting. I just can’t…. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“I know you are. I wanted to show you today that you can be in the light, but I know you’re still the dark.” His fingers brush the scarf covering my eyes, and I lean into his touch. “I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. Everything has changed and you have no control over anything.”

He’s quiet for a second, and his hand disappears. I nearly exhale, but his lips are on mine. Soft, velvety lips embrace mine, imploring mine to part for him. They do, and his tongue finds its way slowly into my mouth, greeting my own before pulling back and nibbling gently on my lip.

This sensation is unlike any other kiss I’ve ever had. Sure I’ve shut my eyes before, but without my sight, I can’t see him. I have to rely on everything else to tell me what’s happening. The taste of his mouth on mine is sweet and familiar, his scent is bold and enticing, and his touch is warm and comforting. He makes me feel so many things as his tongue enters my mouth again, and his hand finds the back of my head.

I give myself to him, feeling everything that is Iwa-chan. I take it all, drinking it in as I let him kiss me passionately. I feel so much, and it’s so bright and powerful.

When he pulls away I feel breathless. His hand remains on my knee, and I feel like I can’t move.

“You alright?” He asks.

“Yeah,” mutter. “That was… something else.”

“They say when you lose your sight, your other senses become enhanced. What do you think?”

“I’d say that’s an accurate summation.”

He laughs softly, and I can hear the smile.

“Toru, your eyes are going to get better. I know it. The rest of you has healed, and your eyes will as well. You just need to be patient and have faith.”

“I’m just so scared. What if they don’t heal? What if I can never go out in the daylight again?”

“You’re here now, aren’t you?”

I don’t say anything. He’s right. There are so many other things I want though. But right now, this feels like a huge step. Just being outside and feeling the sun did so much for me in that first five seconds. Maybe I need to start seeing what I can do instead of focusing on my limitations.

“You’re right,” he says.

“I’m always right,” he teases.

“Hey now,” I shoot back.

“You know what else?”

“What?” I ask, feeling my lips twitch into a slight smile. It almost hurts; I don’t think I’ve smiled in weeks. My facial muscles aren’t used to it.

“You look pretty cute in a blindfold.”

I laugh at that. “Is that so?”

“I also have the key to this little rooftop patio. Which means no one else has it.”

“Oh?”

“Though some of our neighbors might have a view…”

“So what, I can’t see them.”

I laugh, and it feels genuine. It feels foreign, but it feels right.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading ~


End file.
